


I hope I never lose the bruises

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Bruises, Inception Bingo, Light Masochism, M/M, Mild Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 10:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15313659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: College hockey AU. Thrown in with Eames in a hockey locker room, Arthur allows the discovery of his fondness for bruises.





	I hope I never lose the bruises

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third installment of my Inception Bingo card. The prompt is "bites or bruises." 
> 
> I am not even going to pretend it's not Check, Please! inspired. It so is.

“This wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fucking bruises.” Arthur sniffed at himself in the mirror, examining his bare torso. He was covered, some bruises new and deep purple, others faded greenish. “I can’t go out there without getting hit like a goddamn pinata.”

Eames examined Arthur’s reflection in the mirror. They’d stayed after practice to work on Arthur’s slapshot, so the locker room was down to the two of them. “Part of the game,” he said, philosophical.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t look like overripe fruit,” Arthur grumbled, walking away from the mirror and starting to strip out of his bottom pads.

Eames looked down at his own arms and chest. He had one healing bruise on his forearm, where he’d taken a wayward puck a week or two back, but nothing else stood out. “Guess you just bruise easily, pet,” he said, grinning in the direction of Arthur’s retreating back as he headed for the shower. “You’re a fragile thing.”

“Fuck you, Eames,” floated over the shower wall.

Neither of them had come to college intending to be hockey players, and neither of them looked the part. Arthur had started out studying engineering, with a scholarship from the swim team paying his way. Eames had come to make art, letting his trust fund pick up the bill and playing rugby for a bit of homosocial fun. But then the swim team cut Arthur after his first year (something he was still so bitter about that everybody knew better than to bring it up) and Eames got into a lover’s spat with the rugby captain that didn’t clear up like those things usually do, and they both ended up on the hockey team, unlikely additions to a suffering third line.

They probably never would have encountered each other if it hadn’t been for hockey--they hardly ran in the same circles. Eames thought Arthur’s major was boring and his friends were snotty. Arthur thought Eames was wasting time and money in college and slept around too much. They were both right, for whatever it was worth. They’d joined the team at the same time, though, when everybody else already knew each other and had split into friendship groups (based mainly on their lines). So Arthur and Eames were, for better or worse, stuck with each other.

Eames rather thought it was for the better. Arthur was a lot of fun to tease, easy to work up and quick to anger. He was also fast as hell and--complaints about bruising aside--fearless on the ice. He had quick hands and quick eyes and quick wits and he perfectly complemented Eames’ more physical game. Besides, he was easy on the eyes, which Eames always enjoyed in a locker room.

Arthur was less sure about the arrangement. He liked playing hockey with Eames, who could be counted on to have his back when necessary and not hog the puck, but the rest of it was, at best, an irritation. Eames never shut up, never stopped chirping, and never stopped looking for ways to get under his skin. He envied Eames’ seemingly unflappable good nature, but he resented it more. He wondered if Eames really cared about anything. He was pretty good at hockey, but seemed to lack the drive to be great. He appeared to feel similarly about his art--whatever that was. It made Arthur nervous.

“You headed to lunch after this?” Eames asked casually, toweling off as Arthur combed his hair in front of the mirror.

Arthur knew an invitation was coming--Eames asked him to lunch, or dinner, or coffee, or, once, elevensies, after nearly every practice. “No,” he said sharply. “Class.”

Eames shook his head. “Arthur, my love, you spend far too much time going to class.”

Arthur snorted. “Some of us aren’t just here to waste other people’s money, Eames. I’m trying to actually learn something.”

Eames--because he was Eames--wasn’t offended. “I am learning things!” he argued. “Why, just today, I learned that you wear blue underwear on Thursdays.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “With gems like that on your resume, who wouldn’t hire you?” He slipped his comb into the pocket of his gear back. “I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Eames. Try not to get into too much trouble between now and then.”

* * *

Neither Eames nor Arthur got much ice time--they were both improving, but they weren’t at the level of most of their teammates, who’d been playing together for years already. In a game like this one, though, where Inception U. outclassed their opponent so completely, Coach Saito tended to rest his stars. This meant that, by the time they hit the locker room with a 5-1 win under their belts, both Arthur and Eames were wired and tired.

“Christ,” Eames said, unlacing his skates with shaky hands. “That was fun.”

“It really was,” Arthur agreed, one of his rare smiles still on his face. “That last goal, with the…”

Eames interrupted. “I know! And then when you…”

Ten minutes later, when they were both still sitting on the bench, half-undressed, congratulating themselves and each other on how well they’d played, their team captain, finally came over. “I’m glad you guys enjoyed that,” Cobb said, always-serious scowl firmly in place, “but can you get in the shower now? We still have a long trip back to campus tonight.”

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Eames said, still cheerful, as he began stripping out of the rest of his gear. “Completely got distracted.”

“Yeah, we’ll hurry,” Arthur added, starting to peel away his Under Armor.

The trouble with them being in such a hurry, Eames realized a minute later, was that it messed up his perfect run of never being in the shower at the same time as Arthur. His moral code allowed for sneaky looks at Arthur’s sculpted abs and broad shoulders and perky ass across the locker room, but it stopped short of full-on naked-and-wet shower ogling. To spare himself the temptation, he made sure never to actually share showers with Arthur. Tonight, however, he had no choice.

For a moment, Eames thought it was going to be OK. In his rush, Arthur seemed barely to notice they were only inches apart under the lukewarm water, so Eames’ roving eyes went unnoticed. After Arthur rinsed his hair, though, he suddenly turned around, catching Eames in the act of staring at his ass.

To Eames’ surprise, Arthur didn’t yell, or curse at him, or even glare. Instead, he raised his eyebrows as he shook the water out of his face. “Yes?”

Eames was not, in general, much for blushing. Being shameless will do that to a man. Still, it was possible his face was heating up as he said, “uh, sorry, uh, you just, have a bruise on your…”

That bit was true--Arthur was sporting a rather spectacular new bruise, deep purple-black, across one cheek of his magnificent ass.

Arthur twisted his head to see it. “Ew,” he said, nose wrinkling. “That’s nasty.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt yet.” Then, leaving Eames near-speechless, he grabbed his towel and walked back toward the lockers. “Better hurry up, Eames.”

* * *

Eames spent the next few days pondering Arthur’s casual reaction to having been pretty obviously checked out in the shower. He knew Arthur was gay--the guy he was seeing had come to their first couple of games, though he’d disappeared since. Still, Eames was floored at Arthur’s not being angry about it--he’d made his general distaste for Eames pretty clear, and didn’t seem like they type to enjoy being ogled for its own sake.

Eames still wasn’t sure to make of it when he and Arthur next shared the locker room. They were both there late again, Arthur because he was still obsessively practicing that slapshot, Eames because he’d shown up to practice late and had to run post-practice suicides until he nearly puked.

Eames was sitting on the bench with his head down, still trying to catch his breath, when he heard Arthur’s voice. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. “Hey Eames, have I got another bruise back here?”

Eames lifted his head to see Arthur standing in front of the mirror again, his back to Eames. He was stark naked. The game bruise had faded some, but was still there. Eames didn’t see anything else. “Uh, no?” Eames said, trying to peel his eyes away.

“Are you sure?” Arthur said, twisting his head as if to examine his own back. “Can you come over here and look closer?”

Frowning, Eames rose unsteadily from the bench and crossed the locker room. Arthur hadn’t showered yet, lines of sweat were running between the sharp angles of his shoulders. Eames inhaled, trying not to look any more intently than was necessary. “Looks like just the one from the other night,” he said.

In the mirror, Arthur’s reflection raised its eyebrows. “What about in the front?”

Eames’ eyes flicked down the reflection of Arthur’s body. His torso was banged up as always, there was a pretty gross healing bruise on his hip bone, and... _oh._

Arthur’s cock was flushed and hard, standing out from his dark pubic hair. Eames swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and met Arthur’s eyes again in the mirror.

“Shower?” Arthur asked casually.

“Uh, yeah…” Eames said, his tongue tripping over every letter.

“You should take your gear off,” Arthur suggested, smirking.

Eames had never stripped himself out of full hockey gear so fast. Arthur didn’t wait, but when Eames made it to the shower, he was there, his body glistening with water, still fully hard.

“What do you…?” Eames trailed off, his eyes glued to Arthur’s cock.

Arthur shrugged, then turned around, giving Eames a good view of his beautiful triangle back and gorgeous bruised ass. Before Eames could say anything else, Arthur reached back and grabbed his hands, pulling him forward so they stood under the spray together, Arthur’s back against Eames’ front. Eames groaned at the contact, hardening rapidly against Arthur’s ass.

“Ah,” Arthur made a small, pained noise.

“Sorry, does that hurt?” Eames mumbled, trying to pull his hips away.

“No, stay there,” Arthur ordered. He grabbed Eames’ hand from where it rested against his abdomen and moved it back to the bruise on his ass, pushing his fingers against it. “Ahhhh.”

“Oh,” Eames said sharply, figuring it out. “Do you like that?” He pressed a bit harder, rubbing his thumb around the dark margin.

“Christ, yes,” Arthur hissed, arching his back. “Not too much, fuck, yeah. Just like that.”

Eames grinned. He would never have guessed this. This was fucking perfect. For the next few minutes, he cataloged all of Arthur’s bruises, from the newest and darkest to the nearly-gone, running his fingers lightly over them, then pressing harder until Arthur shook and cursed in front of him.

“What about here?” Eames finally asked, his voice low, as he wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock. “Like this?” He slid a wet hand up and down, not too hard yet.

“Fuck, yeah,” Arthur said. Eames was stunned to see how gone he was, all from having his battered body manhandled. “Just, um, use…” he opened his eyes and looked around, then snagged Eames’ hippie body wash from where it rested on the shower ledge. “Use this.”

Eames did as directed, pouring a generous amount in his hand and then slicking the patchouli-scented liquid over Arthur’s dick.

“God, this shit smells like a head shop,” Arthur groaned, pushing his back against Eames again as Eames’ strokes quickened. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Eames grinned and moved his mouth to Arthur’s ear. “Tell me how you want it, pet,” he coached. “Little bit harder?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.” Arthur wasn’t loud, but he was clear. “Oh, God, just like that.”

Arthur’s cock and stomach were comically covered in suds, but Eames didn’t stop, jerking Arthur hard, twisting his wrist at the head, holding most of Arthur’s weight against his chest. “You gonna come like this, love?” he asked, mouth against the shell of Arthur’s ear. “You gonna spill all over my hand right here in this shower?”

“Mmmmm!” Arthur groaned, hips jerking up into Eames fist as he came.

Eames pulled him through it, softening his grip as Arthur started to come down, then removing his hand completely when Arthur hissed with overstimulation. He continued to hold Arthur’s body against his as he rinsed the soap away, waiting for him to stand up on his own.

Finally, Arthur stood and turned, looking Eames up and down, then honest-to-God winking before he slid to his knees.

It was an efficient, magnificent blow job. Arthur started strong and just went harder as the seconds ticked by. Eames had to steady himself against the tiled wall, spreading his feet wider to accommodate his shaking knees as Arthur swallowed him down. The water beat down on Eames’ back, and his heaving, exhausted body seemed almost to levitate as Arthur sucked him. He heard himself babbling, not just his usual practiced bed-banter, but complete nonsense, and hoped Arthur couldn’t hear him over the water. He barely had the presence of mind to reach down and pull Arthur’s head away when he started coming, and he was late enough at it that he ended up shooting all over Arthur’s neck and shoulder as he pulled his face away.

“Shit, sorry,” Eames mumbled, slumping against the wall. If he weren’t sure he’d end up with athlete’s foot of the scrotum or something equally vile, he’d have let himself fall all the way to the floor.

Arthur just laughed and stood under the abandoned spray, rinsing the mess off himself. “Stay there,” he ordered, once he was clean. “There’s something else.”

Eames was confused, but in no position to move. When Arthur slipped back to his knees, Eames groaned. “I can’t go again yet, love, Jesus.”

Arthur laughed. “Hold still,” he said, attaching his mouth to the soft skin between Eames’ hip and groin and sucking hard, then repeating it on the other side. When Arthur finally stood, Eames look down to see dark bruises forming where Arthur’s mouth had been.

Arthur looked at Eames and smirked. “See?” he said. “You bruise, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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